


Start A War

by BelaBellissima



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Andreil Week 2018, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Demigods, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Trojan War/Troy AU, everyone's names are changed for the Aesthetic, minor background very small blink and you'll miss it jerejean, trust me it does have a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15162800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelaBellissima/pseuds/BelaBellissima
Summary: The boy raises his voice, his glare melting into a sneer. “You’re nothing but a killer and a monster. You wouldn’t know anything about the gods.”Andreas stands straight at that, flicking his hand at the boy so that the water on his fingers flies off to hit him.“I know more about the gods than your priests,” he mutters lowly. “I’ve seen them.”More than seen, really. Andreas has talked with them, has grown up surrounded by the whims of the immortals who care not for the lives of mortals any more than as entertainment. They were part of him, part of Aeron too – the demigod twins born of a minor goddess.“So have I,” the boy says, low enough that he almost misses it.





	Start A War

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This was written for Day 1 of Andreil Week 2018 even though I'm posting it on Day 4 smh... (I'm so behind on everything)  
> It's based on the movie Troy and the Trojan War myths, but I've changed quite a bit.  
> Names were also changed to fit the era, but hopefully nothing is too confusing. I'll put the list in the end notes anyway, just in case:)  
> Title from the song "Start A War" by Klergy  
> Enjoy!

The temple of Apollo shines bright in the early afternoon sun. Andreas pulls off his helmet, looking down at the rest of his Myrmidon army as they slaughter Troy’s first defenses. When the last man has been run through, he addresses them all, not bothering to raise his volume.

“The sun god is the patron of Troy, our enemy. Take whatever treasure you can find.”

His men erupt in cheers and rush by him into the stone building, leaving him alone outside with only his brother for company. Aeron stops a few steps below him, looking up and squinting.

“What are you doing Andreas?” Aeron asks. “Apollo sees everything. Perhaps… perhaps it is not wise to offend him.”

Andreas stares at his twin for a moment, uncaring. If offending gods was as much of a death wish as Aeron believed, Andreas would have already been smote a hundred times over. He breaks his gaze from his brothers to glance at the statue of Apollo next to him. In it, Apollo crouches proudly, a drawn arrow pointed out over the bay. Andreas barely regards it as he swings his sword, cutting the golden head off at the neck. It rolls down the sands a few times, stopping at Aeron’s feet.

Aeron sends him a look of horror, but Andreas just spreads his arms and looks skyward, daring Apollo to strike him down with an arrow of sunlight. It doesn’t come – instead, the sound of horse hooves on sand grows in the distance. A group of riders crests over a sand dune, and Andreas knows that the coming battle will be… interesting.

“Warn the men,” he orders, but a moment later changes his mind. “Wait,” he says, holding his hand out behind him. Aeron passes him a spear, and after waiting just enough time to be able to look the leader in the eyes, he takes a few steps forward and hurls the spear, striking the second in command through his throat. The leader falters at the impossible throw he’d just witnessed, turning to watch as the corpse gets trampled by the rest of his men, then turns back to Andreas with fury in his eyes.

His horse gallops a few more feet as Aeron finally goes inside, bringing him into range to shoot a return spear that Andreas easily evades simply by leaning to the side. The attempt is one of the better that he’s seen, but it’s still pathetically beneath his own level, god-blessed as it is. He turns his back on the man as the group approaches, making his own way into the temple. The walkway is deserted, his men hiding behind the pillars that line the way for when the Trojans enter. Andreas pays them no mind and heads to the very back of the temple, past the corpses of priests who had not been much of a challenge for his men.

By the time he makes it into the chamber, the Trojans have entered the front hall. The sound of arrows firing is music to his ears, and the following clashing of blades makes him turn his head to watch. There are a few Greek deaths, but the majority of people dying are enemies. He turns away, making his way to the shadows in the corner of the room to wait.

A minute later, the leader of the enemy men cautiously steps into the room, sword at the ready.

“You’re very brave or very stupid to come after me alone,” Andreas says, enjoying the way the man tenses and looks around. His skill is evident in the way he holds himself, and Andreas knows immediately who he is. “You must be Kevin,” he says, making himself visible finally as he steps out of the shadows into Kevin’s line of sight. “They call you the ‘The Foreign Prince of Troy,’ born to the Celtic Queen Aikaterine and the Trojan King David. Well _Foreign Prince,_ do you know who I am?”

Kevin glares at him, refusing to answer, instead saying, “These priests weren’t armed.”

Andreas flicks their bodies a glance. He doesn’t really care, and Kevin’s frustration, his near-hatred of him almost makes him smile. He does love a good challenge, and the famed Kevin of Troy is likely one of the only fighters outside of his own men that would be able to last against him for any length of time.

“Yes,” he says, rolling his eyes and swaying his weight.

Kevin lunges for him and Andreas dances away, jumping up onto the altar to get his height advantage back. As it is, he only manages to bring himself a few inches higher than Prince Kevin.

“Fight me,” Kevin growls at him, sword up and pointed at Andreas.

Andreas smiles wildly, sure that his teeth are stained red from blood. He steps down, ducking behind the altar and sauntering out the back exit. His manic grin hasn’t faded as he throws carelessly behind him, “Why kill you now, Prince of Troy, with no here to see you fall?”

Outside, the sun is blinding against the pale sand. Some of the other ships have finally landed, and hundreds of thousands of Greeks pour out, looking like ants on the ground from where Andreas stands. The breeze cools him, drying his sweat and blowing his hair gently.

Kevin follows him out, as Andreas knew he would. Circling Andreas, Kevin finally comes to a stop a bit to his left.

“Why did you come here?” he asks, his voice low.

“They’ll be talking about this war for a thousand years,” Andreas answers plainly. Kevin sneers at the answer.

“In a thousand years, the dust from our bones will be gone.”

“Yes Foreign Prince, but our names will remain.”

His name will live on even when the world around him is gone and a new one takes its place. It’s a permanence that Andreas likes, a way of sticking around without having to actually stick around. He couldn’t care less about fame or notoriety, but to be forgotten by everyone, to not have one single person remember that he existed, that he lived, for as brief as it was, that he fought tooth and nail for every single day he was given, is the one thing he thinks he could never live with.

Around him, Aeron and the rest of the soldiers file in, surrounding Andreas and Kevin. Andreas doesn’t see a single Trojan among them.

“Go home prince,” Andreas says, sheathing his sword as a clear sign that their fight is over for the day. “Drink some wine, make love to your wife, the Lady Theodora. Tomorrow we’ll have our war.”

The prince give shim a stony look, then turns and leaves, heading down the stairs leading to the beach. Andreas’s Myrmidons let him go, and after a jerk of his head, Nicky follows after him as an escort.

“You’re letting him go?” Aeron asks after Kevin has disappeared. Andreas doesn’t need to turn around to know that he’s sneering.

“It’s too early in the day for killing princes,” Andreas says, looking down at the bodies littering the sand. Soldiers are moving around them, picking out the Greeks from the Trojans and bringing their own back to camp.

Andreas makes his way over to a statue on the corner of the temple, pulling himself up until he is standing on the stone shoulder of Apollo’s likeness. The men below see him and wait, and when Andreas pulls out his sword and holds it high in the air, they erupt into cheering. A roar of approval slowly begins to turn into chants of his name over and over.

Andreas sees Rikos and Tetsos observing him with narrowed eyes. They stand at the flap to Tetsos’ tent, the first thing to have been set up on the beach. Rikos sneers when he realizes Andreas can see them, storming into his uncle’s tent. Tetsos waits, watching Andreas for a few more moments before following Rikos. Their irritation almost makes Andreas smile widely again. Instead, his lips twitching momentarily is all he allows to escape.

* * *

 “Andreas,” Aeron says. He sounds unhappy, piquing Andreas’s curiosity. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Niki reappears, keeping pace with Andreas as Aeron leads them to Andreas’s tent until he’s pulled away by another soldier. Aeron holds the leather straps aside as Andreas walks inside, and Andreas’s attention is drawn immediately by what Aeron was talking about.

There is a boy tied to one of the support beams of his tent. His face is bruised and lip split, and though he must be terrified and hurting, he stares straight ahead at the wall with a glare, refusing to even acknowledge Andreas and Aeron.

The first thing he notices are the scars on his face. They look like burns on one side, like fire was held to the skin until it bubbled up. Tears in his clothing reveal more burns placed sporadically in his skin. From what Andreas can tell, his eyes are as blue as the Aegean sea without a storm in sight. His matted hair is as red as fire, plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck with sweat. Andreas wants to touch it. He turns to pick up a nearby jar of water instead.

“He was in the temple,” Aeron says, “dressed in priest’s robes, but he fought like a soldier. He took down two of our men before we were able to subdue him. They thought he’d…amuse you.”

Aeron leaves, distasteful at the suggestion, and Andreas agrees. His grip tightens on the jar as he drinks straight from it, then pours the rest on his neck and down his back to get some of the dirt and blood off of him. The boy still hasn’t moved his head, so Andreas pulls off his armor, facing away as he leans on a chest of drawers to unlace his greaves.

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he looks over, the boy is still staring straight ahead as if he never moved.

“What’s your name?” he asks, unbuckling his bracers. He drops them to the ground near his greaves and chest plate, making a small pile of dirty, bloody armor. The boy doesn’t speak until Andreas is reaching into a basin of water to wash himself off.

“You killed Apollo’s priests. He won’t forgive that.”

Andreas scoffs under his breath. “I’ve killed men in five countries, but never a priest.”

He can practically hear the glare when the boy responds hotly, “Your men, then. The sun god _will_ have his vengeance, and I look forward to seeing you burn.”

Andreas looks over at the boy and spreads his arms mockingly. Since the boy is still not looking at him, it is largely unnecessary, but Andreas continues to do it anyway. “Well then, what’s he waiting for?”

“The right time to strike,” comes the immediate response.

“His priests are dead or captive,” Andreas replies, returning to the basin to keep washing. The water is cool on his overheated body, and for a moment he just stands there, curls dripping tiny beads of water down his back or back into the basin from how he’s hunched over it, arms spread on either side. “I sacked his temple, beheaded his statue, and he has done nothing. I think your god is afraid of me.”

The boy finally looks at Andreas, shooting him with a glare. “Afraid? Apollo is master of the sun. He fears nothing.”

“Then where is he?” Andreas interrupts. He almost looses track of the conversation for a moment, watching the boys face. Now that he can see the full thing, he notices thin scars on the boy’s other cheek. They don’t quite look like knife wounds, they look almost like they were made with a flame, shiny and thin as a needle, but Andreas can’t think of anything other than a knife heated in fire that would’ve caused such a mark.  

The boy raises his voice, his glare melting into a sneer. “You’re nothing but a killer and a monster. You wouldn’t know anything about the gods.”

Andreas stands straight at that, flicking his hand at the boy so that the water on his fingers flies off to hit him.

“I know more about the gods than your priests,” he mutters lowly. “I’ve seen them.”

More than seen, really. Andreas has talked with them, has grown up surrounded by the whims of the immortals who care not for the lives of mortals any more than as entertainment. They were part of him, part of Aeron too – the demigod twins born of a minor goddess. 

“So have I,” the boy says, low enough that he almost misses it.

He ponders on that bitter statement as he changes out of the rest of his armor, washing the blood and dust from his legs and pulling on a fresh set. The boy turns his head away slightly, strands of his red hair

“You’re royalty, aren’t you? You spent years talking down to common men and soldiers.” Andreas notices with interest how the boy’s eyes harden at the accusation. He tries to hide it, but Andreas knows that what he just said was only partly true. “You must be royalty,” he repeats, taking a guess. Again, the way the boy reacts says Andreas hasn’t quite gotten it.

It’s the same way Andreas acts when people question his own heritage. They assume royalty because of how his men respect and fear him. They never assume that he could be part-immortal.

“No, that’s not it,” he corrects himself. “Not royalty – divinity. You haven’t just seen the gods, you’re born to one.” This time, the boy doesn’t give any indication to falseness. Instead, he freezes, going tense in a defensive way, like he’s prepared for Andreas to attack him because of who his godly parent might be.

“What’s your name?” Andreas asks again. He doesn’t like repeating himself often, but for once, he doesn’t really mind. “Even servants of Apollo have names.”

The boy doesn’t answer. Andreas steps closer, noting the way the boy tenses as he squats beside him and reaches for the ties on his wrists. He flinches slightly when Andreas touches him, but it’s only a momentary accident as Andreas roughly pulls the binding apart.

The boy regards him with a suspicious look as he brings his arms in front of him and rubs at his wrists, but after a moment to consider, he answers the kindness with a truth.

“Nathanael.”

Nathanael holds Andreas’ gaze for a few seconds before flicking his eyes away, back to the wall in front of him.

“Are you afraid, Nathanael?” Andreas asks, earning an immediate return of Nathanael’s attention.

“Why would I be?” he says, looking Andreas straight in the eyes. Andreas wants to step away from the gaze – it seems to look right through him. “I’ve suffered far more terrifying things than you.”

Nathanael doesn’t look away for a long time, holding Andreas’ gaze as he dares him to prove him wrong.

Aeron is the reason Andreas finally looks away, returning to the tent and loudly pushing aside the leather straps that make the doorway. “Andreas, Tetsos requests your presence. He and Rikos are gathering the generals to celebrate the victory.”

“You fought well today,” Andreas says to his brother. Aeron is clearly startled by it. Andreas isn’t known for giving out compliments, especially not about fighting. He’s the best, and though some may be good, they will never be at the same level as him. Aeron is the only one who comes close, thanks to their shared parentage, and he usually is better at healing than fighting with his gifts.

“My lord,” Aeron says respectfully, leaving Andreas and Nathanael alone again.

“What do you want here in Troy. You didn’t come for the Spartan Prince’s Helot.”

“I want what all men want. I just want it more.”

“And what would that be? A fight, bloody and vicious?” Nathanael mocks.

Andreas shrugs. “Glory. Fame. Renown. Pick one.” None of them are true, but they are easily believable. Nathanael looks at Andreas like he knows this, but doesn’t call him out on it, so Andreas stands from his crouch and leaves.

On the way to Tetsos are rows and rows of dead and dying soldiers. A few moan in pain as he passes, and when the shadow his body makes crosses their face, they open their eyes. When they see him, they smile. A few whisper praises to him that go ignored. They aren’t Andreas’ men, they aren’t Myrmidons; they’re just other soldiers brought into a war no one wanted to fight over a Helot boy who had run from Prince Rikos. Andreas can’t even blame him. Rikos is a pain, and from what Andreas has heard, the second Trojan Prince Ieremias could not be more different. Andreas has long suspected him of not truly being the son of King David, but rather of the very god Andreas has dishonored that day – Apollo. It would make sense after all for the god to bless his sacred city with one of his own demigod children.

All too soon Andreas makes it to Tetsos’ tent. It is the largest of them all, three connected rooms built around a grand boat, making it possible for the King of Kings to keep from walking in the sand of the beach. On the front of the hull is a painting of a Raven with its talons out and wings spread, ready to snatch up prey.

Inside it is quiet, the thick fabric of the walls keeping the noise of outside and the heat of the sun away. King Tetsos sits in a throne, while his spurned nephew Prince Rikos sits next to him. The many generals who had answered Tetsos’ call wait around the edge of the room, giving supplication and gifts one at a time to their commander.

Andreas rolls his eyes at the sight, and a soft cough from farther in the room gets his attention. Raias is covering his mouth with his hand, but the humor in his eyes means he’s seen Andreas’ annoyance and finds it funny. Raias notices Andreas’ attention and smirks slightly, rolling his eyes right back as a new general steps up and grants Tetsos and Rikos with an urn from his father.

Rikos notices Andreas first, reaching out to touch his uncles arm. Tetsos looks up and sees Andreas next, his face immediately losing the false smile. He raises a hand and flicks it dismissively toward the tent flaps. All at once, the many generals around the room leave, so that only Tetsos, Rikos, and their guards remain.

Raias passes by Andreas, close enough to murmur under his breath, “War is young men dying and old men talking. You know this. Ignore the politics.”

Andreas doesn’t give any indication to having heard, but Raias knows him well enough to have expected that, and leaves with the crowd.

“Apparently you won some great victory,” Andreas says when the tent is finally empty.

“Perhaps you didn’t notice,” Rikos sneers. “The Trojan beach belonged to David in the morning. It belongs to Tetsos in the afternoon.”

“You can have the beach. I didn’t come here for sand.”

“No? You came here because you want your name to last through the ages,” Tetsos says this time, his head tilting to the side as he frowns down at Andreas. “A great victory was won today, but that victory is not yours.”

Andreas would beg to differ if he did that sort of thing, but as it goes, he doesn’t care enough to interrupt quite yet. He knows who really won the battle.

“Kings did not kneel to Andreas. Kings did not pay homage to Andreas.”

“Perhaps the kings were too far behind to see. The soldiers won the battle. My Myrmidons had already sacked the temple of Apollo by the time your ship touched the shore.”

Tetsos narrows his eyes. “History remembers kings, not soldiers. Tomorrow we’ll batter down the gates of Troy. I’ll build monuments to victory on every island of Greece. I’ll carve Tetsos in the stone. My name will last through the ages. Your name is written in sand for the waves to wash away.”

Andreas looks away, bored with the conversation. “Be careful, King of Kings. First you need the victory.”

There’s a pregnant pause as Tetsos and Rikos reign in their anger at Andreas’ blatant disrespect, but there is nothing they can do without risking losing the greatest of their fighters.

“Speaking of sacking Apollo’s temple,” Rikos finally speaks up.

Andreas interrupts again. “You want gold? Take it. It’s my gift to honor your courage. Take what you wish.”

Rikos shoots him a victorious look. “I already have.”

A moment later, two soldiers drag in Nathanael, more bruised and bloody than he was when Andreas had left him in his tent.

“Spoils of war,” Rikos says smugly.

Andreas pulls his sword out in a moment, holding it defensively between him and the two soldiers holding Nathanael. He doesn’t know why he does it really – he has made no promises to the demigod like the one of protection he made to Aeron or the one of training he made to his mortal cousin Nikolaos. There is just something that frustrates Andreas about his tent being entered without his permission and having something taken from it. Even though Nathanael was never his, and even though Andreas never wanted him there in the first place, he doesn’t want him gone, especially not to someone as cruel as Rikos.

“I have no argument with you, but if you don’t release him, you’ll never see home again,” he says, twirling his sword around once so that the threat is clear. The other soldiers in the room begin to advance with a wave from Tetsos, but Nathanael wrenches himself free and stumbles to the center of the room, hands outspread between Andreas and his captors.

“Stop!” He shouts, voice breaking halfway through. “Too many people have died today. If killing is your only talent that’s your curse. I don’t want anyone dying for me.”

Andreas looks at him, holding Nathanael’s gaze for some length of time. Nathanael is clearly scared, but there’s an anger there too, directed straight at Andreas. His eyes are screaming at Andreas to let it go, to put his sword away and not bring any more attention to him by causing a fight for him. Andreas nods once, then steps out of his ready position and sheaths his sword.

Rikos laughs. “Mighty Andreas, silenced by a slave boy. Tonight, I think I’ll have him serve me. In fact, I think I’ll keep him even after we get my traitorous Helot back. Maybe this new boy will keep Ieannis company back in Sparta.”

Andreas turns his head to glare at Rikos. Tetsos is watching Rikos as well, irritation obvious.

“You sack of sour wine,” he says. He barely has a moment to think his next actions through, but he can’t bring himself to care as he promises, “Before my time is done, I will look down on your corpse and smile.”

And with that, Andreas leaves, his shoulders hitting the guards who had dragged Nathanael in.

* * *

Time passes quickly when there are things to do, which means that the next few months drag on for what feels like forever. Andreas knows that Tetsos grows angrier the longer he refuses to fight, but until Nathanael is returned and Rikos apologizes, Andreas refuses to let his men join the battles. His men know this means they will never fight, because everyone knows Rikos never apologizes, especially not to a lowly general he doesn’t even like.

Sometimes while walking around camp, Andreas sees Nathanael, head down and clothes dirtied. Every time, Nathanael seems to sense Andreas’ gaze, and he looks up to meet his eyes. Sometimes they are ringed in bruises, sometimes a red handprint is outlined on his cheek. Every time, Andreas wants to cut Rikos down, and again, every time, Nathanael mouths at him to stand down.

In the distance, Andreas can hear the men returning from yet another battle. They sound depressed, their spirits low. It’s clear they lost many people, and Troy remains just as secure as it was when they first arrived on the beaches nearly two full seasons before.

Andreas continues to eat his dinner, lounging alone on the furs that make up his bed. What does he care if Rikos’ soldiers continue to die? His Myrmidons’ are still alive, and they won’t disrespect him by going against his direct order to not fight.

Nearly half an hour after the army returns, Raias stumbles into the tent, gripping the side to keep from falling over. The leather straps jump at the sudden disruption. Andrew looks up calmly, sipping from his goblet.

“Rikos doesn’t care anymore about that boy he took. He says if you want him, you can have him.”

Andreas tilts his head to the side, glancing at the obviously empty entryway behind Raias.

“Then where is he?”

“Rikos gave him to his men. I don’t know where they are, I came here first.

Andreas sets down the goblet and stands, pushing Raias out of the way as he leaves the warmth of his tent behind. Faintly, he can hear the sounds of jeering, then suddenly the smack of a fist against skin and angry shouts. He sets off for it immediately, leaving a confused Raias behind, unable to hear the same things as Andreas.

The sounds of a fight continue the closer Andreas gets, then the hiss of burning metal is accompanied by the bright flare of a branding iron being waved around as Andreas finally comes upon the scene. Nathanael is staring wide-eyed at the hot metal, his fight instinct changing into flight. He tries to back up, and the moment he is no longer actively fighting the group of men around him, two manage to grab an arm each and secure him.

Andreas grabs the branding iron, pulling it easily from the hands of a man with four fresh, deep scratches down his face and turning it around until the metal presses against his throat. The sizzle of flesh and small of burnt meat is immediately present, and once Andreas is sure that this first of Nathanael’s attackers is dead, he wings it like a sword, catching the face of a second man.

The rest of the men back up out of Andreas’s immediate reach, dropping Nathanael to the ground, where he again tries to back away, pushing himself backwards from his spot on the ground. His eyes are locked on the weapon in Andreas hand, unseeing of who now holds it. The burns on each of his cheeks are thrown into a harsh chiaroscuro by its glow. Andreas takes a step toward him, but his mouth parts in fear and he tries to push himself back again. The ring of men around the fire step back so that Andreas doesn’t come after them next for being too close.

Andreas drops the brand back into the flames of the campfire before stepping closer. He hates people touching him, but right now, he doesn’t think Nathanael is capable of standing on his own, too lost in the horrors of his mind. It’s easy to pull on his arm, hauling him up off the ground now that he’s no longer trying to back away. He stumbles against Andreas, eyes glazed over until Andreas slides his hand around the back of his neck and squeezes gently. Nathanael blinks a few times, finally focusing on Andreas with everything in him.

Andreas grabs Nathanael’s wrist with his other hand, pulling on it as he turns, headed back to his tent. When they get there, Andreas tries to push him onto the piles of fur, rather than the hard, packed sand floor, but Nathanael starts to fight, pulling his arm away from Andreas and digging his heels into the ground.

Andreas turns his head around to glare at Nathanael, but he’s not even looking at Andreas. Instead, he’s focused on the bed with fear back in his eyes.

Andreas lets go like Nathanael’s skin burns.

Nathanael falls to the ground and scurries backwards, exactly like he had back with his attackers. When his back hits the wall, he pulls his legs up to his chest and hugs them, resting his chin on his knees while looking up at Andreas with wide eyes.

Andreas turns from him for a moment, picking up the pot of clean water and a rag to wash his injuries. When he sets it down in front of Nathanael, he sits as well, dipping the rag into the water then ringing it out.

Nathanael watches warily as Andreas reaches out, but lifts his head slightly when he realizes Andreas is just… holding it.

“Nathanael,” he says, softer than he’s ever said anything before. “Yes or no?”

For a moment, Andreas thinks he won’t answer, that he’ll just duck his head back into the space created by his knees and arms, but then that moment passes and Nathanael is nodding, letting his eyes shut as he leans forward.

Andreas dabs at the blood drying on his face. There aren’t many wounds on Nathanael, most seemed to be caused by him instead, but his lip is still split and there’s a cut on his nose. He winces a bit as Andreas cleans it, but doesn’t open his eyes, trusting in Andreas to be different from everyone else.

When Nathanael’s face is clean, Andreas asks, “Are you hurt anywhere else?” Nathanael thinks for a moment, but ultimately shakes his head. It’s not until Andrew has stood and carried the bowl back to its proper place that Nathanael speaks.

“I thought I’d known men like you my entire life. Soldiers who understood nothing but war, each thinking themselves more special than the rest. Peace confuses them. They don’t understand that you can just exist without conflict.”

Andreas holds out a platter of food, and before he continues, Nathanael picks up a bunch of grapes, slowly eating them one at a time.

“I pity them.”

Andreas rolls his eyes, irritated with that. “Trojans died trying to protect you. They deserve more than pity.”

“Why did you choose this life?”

“What life?”

Nathanael throws a grape at him. “To be a great warrior.”

Andreas shrugs. “I chose nothing. I was born to a goddess and a human, and this is what I am. I make my path with the gifts I’ve been given. And you? Why did you choose to love a god? I think you’ll find the romance… one sided.”

Nathanael glares at Andreas, his personality finally starting to return after being shoved away in his fear. “Do you enjoy provoking me?”

“Yes,” Andreas says plainly. “I do. You dedicated your life to the gods. Zeus, god of the sky. Athena, goddess of wisdom. Apollo, god of healing. You serve them.”

Nathanael nods assent, raising his hand to his mouth to take a bite of bread.

“And Ares?”

Nathanael freezes, bread still halfway in his mouth. He lowers his hand slowly, without ever taking the bite.

Andreas regards the change, then suddenly understands. “The god of war,” he continues, “who blankets his bed with the skin of the men he has killed. Your father.”

“All of the gods are to be feared and respected,” Nathanael says, like the good little disciple he is, and then – “Except for Ares. Ares can burn in the depths of Tartarus for all I care.”

Andreas smiles, a wild thing that he knows has terrified men before, but when Nathanael sees it, all he does is stare like usual, then raise the bread back to his mouth and eat like he hadn’t just gone against everything he supposedly stood for.

Andreas rises, turning his back on Nathanael even as he throws two of his bed-furs at him. “Good night, War-Son.”

There’s no response, but Andreas didn’t expect one. He falls asleep, victory on his mind.

* * *

Another week of waiting passes. Aeron is getting restless not fighting, and Niki is just trying to keep the peace. Nathanael has barely spoken to Andreas, but they exist around each other comfortably, and both have taken to watching each other when the other is not watching them.

Andreas can no longer ignore how beautiful Nathanael is, even with the lingering yellow of bruises on his arms and the permanent scars on his face. He wants to ask about them, wants to touch them and know if they are smooth or rough or both or neither. Andreas assumes Nathanael is just watching to know when a strike is coming.

He doesn’t expect the strike to come from Nathanael.

It’s after midnight when the press of a cold blade to his chin wakes Andreas, and he doesn’t even open his eyes before saying, “Do it. Nothing is easier.”

The dagger presses more firmly into the flesh of his neck, finally drawing his eyes open. Nathanael is poised above him, the dagger the sharpest things about him. His face is surprisingly open, not showing the same anger Andreas is used to seeing from Nathanael.

“You think I don’t know that?” Nathanael says back. “You think you’re the first person I’ll have killed? I should kill you and all your men and run back to Troy right now.”

“So do it,” Andreas dares him. Nathanael doesn’t move, except to pull slightly back on the dagger so that it’s no longer pressed against Andreas’ neck. Andreas shivers at the feeling.

In a quick movement, Andreas pulls Nathanael down, switching their positions so that Nathanael is the one trapped beneath Andreas. Nathanael doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He’s not even reaching to push his weapon back against Andreas – instead he lets it go, bringing his open hand around Andreas neck. His eyes are low, trained on Andreas’ lips.

Andreas feels a smirk tugging at his mouth and fights it down. “You don’t actually hate us at all, do you?”

Nathanael huffs a soft laugh. “No,” he says. “I don’t.”

Andreas leans down, until Nathanael’s eyes flutter closed and their breaths are mingling. “I want to kiss you,” Andreas whispers.

“I might just have to fight anyone that calls you a monster,” Nathanael replies.

Andreas lets the smirk grow. “You’ve called me that.”

“Kiss me,” Nathanael begs back.

“Stay,” Andreas says against his lips.

In the morning, Nathanael is still there.

* * *

Six more months pass. Andreas hates being at war, even though he hasn’t fought since the very first day. He wants to go home, wants his brother to see his wife again even if Andreas can’t stand her, wants Niki to see his husband and child again. He wants to show his homeland to Nathanael, who has never had one. And yet, since he can’t have those things, he is content to simply have Aeron and Niki at his back, and Nathanael at his side.

He thinks he could even be happy.

He should have known.

* * *

The Trojans attack the camp at night another season later. Fire consumes almost half of the ships, leaving half of the army without a way home until more can be built. Hundreds of men burned to death in their sleep, trapped in tents or run through by Trojan swords.

Tetsos swears retribution, and at sunrise the next day, the army marches out. Andreas stays in his tent, wrapped up in furs next to Nathanael. The air is still cold on their bare skin, but Nathanael just murmurs in his sleep and tugs the covers higher onto his chin, curls against Andreas, and buries what’s still exposed of his face into Andreas’ neck, all without fully waking up.

Andreas turns to his side, burying his nose in Nathanael’s hair and slinging his arm over his waist. He falls back asleep, the waves in the distance a soothing sound after the chaos of the night.

He wakes to the sounds of soldiers returning and panicked orders, but it’s far too close to be any group other than his own men. A surge of anger fills Andreas, and he pulls himself out of bed quickly, rousing Nathanael as he throws on a robe and stalks outside.

It’s still early in the morning, no more than an hour after they left for battle. Andreas wonders briefly why the battle was so short, then realizes he can hear the sounds of war still raging in the distance. Only his own men have returned.

Niki approaches him with tears in his eyes.

Andreas narrows his eyes. “Why did you fight?” he demands, looking around at his men as they rush around. “Why did you disobey me?”

“Andreas,” Niki sobs. “We thought we were following you.”

Behind Niki, cresting over a sand dune, is a stretcher being carried by four other men. Lying on top of it is Aeron, dressed in Andreas’ armor. His skin is pale, and his hands are bloody. A giant gash in his stomach is steadily seeping blood. When the men set the stretcher down, Aeron moans in pain, somehow still alive. Andreas knows it’s only because of being a demigod that he’s lasted this long at all with his guts spilling out of him.

Andreas doesn’t remember moving, but he’s suddenly at Aeron’s side, slapping his hands away from the wound. Around him, his men are dropping to their knees, linen bandages and bone needles with thread in their hands, attempting to save Aeron.

Andreas knows it’s too late. Nothing mortal will save his brother, and Andreas’ abilities lie in protection, not healing. Andreas holds Aeron’s hand as he finally looses his grip on consciousness. Andreas hates that he can’t do anything, that after every promise he’d made to protect Aeron and to bring him back home to his wife, he’s a liar who failed.

“Who did this?” Andreas demands.

“Prince Kevin,” Niki replies.

 _Prince Kevin,_ Andreas thinks. He should have killed him when he had the chance.

Someone kneels neck to Andreas and reaches out, pushing all other hands away from Aeron’s dying body. They unbuckle the armor next, pulling it off with a wet sound. With it gone, the wound looks even more grievous as it spills blood anew. Andreas wonders how there could even be any left in him.

The hands move to rest on top of the wound. Andreas starts to reach out to stop them, but when his hands encircle the wrists and stop them, he realizes it’s just Nathanael. Nathanael looks at him, really looks with his startlingly blue eyes and waits for permission. Andreas lets go, and Nathanael looks back to Aeron, pushing down on the wound with enough force to wake Aeron back up.

Aeron screams in pain, back arching as he tries to move away from Nathanael. His hands come up to weakly pull at Nathanael’s, but Andreas stops him, taking his hands and holding them by his sides. He doesn’t know what Nathanael is doing, but he trusts. It’s the most frightening things he’s ever done.

Nathanael moves his left hand to the top of Aeron’s head, wrapping his fingers in the strands and tugging gently as he leans down, pressing his nose to Aeron’s forehead, his mouth moving furiously as he whispers prayers to the gods. His right hand is still pressed harshly into the wound at Aeron’s stomach, and as he watches, Andreas realizes it’s stopped bleeding.

In fact, the longer Nathanael holds his hand to the gash, the smaller it becomes.

Aeron begins to cough, blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth. Some lands on Nathanael’s face, but he just keeps praying, his voice staying low and fast.

Andreas hears “Apollo” a few times, and then surprisingly – “Soteria.”

Hearing the name of his mother from Nathanael’s lips shocks Andreas, especially since he never mentioned her name to him, but he’s thankful, because when Nathanael finishes his prayers and sits up, dizzy and swaying, Aeron’s wound is half the size it had been five minutes before.

The Myrmidons around them are silent, in awe by the act of divinity being shown.

“Andreas,” Nathanael gasps, out of breath and woozy. “I need a knife.”

Andreas passes it to him without hesitation.

Nathanael brings it to his mouth, whispering again prayers to Apollo against the blade. As he lowers it, it heats, and when Nathanael presses it to the lingering wound, the sizzle of cauterized flesh is louder than Aeron’s second scream, at least until he passes out again, this time from pain.

Nathanael removes the knife after a minute, and instead of a burn, there is unblemished flesh, completely healed with no scar to speak of. The knife slips from Nathanael’s loose fingers, then he collapses backwards onto the sand, the drain of channeling a god’s power taking its toll.

“How…” Niki wonders aloud, awe evident in his voice.

“He’s the son of Ares,” Andreas says numbly, “and Apollo’s favorite disciple. Healing battle wounds is his gift.”

Niki carries Aeron back to his tent after Andreas is comfortable letting him out of his sight. Nathanael he picks up himself, carrying him back to their shared tent and tucking him back into the furs of their beds. Slipping in beside him, just like he had been less than twenty minutes previous, Andreas holds Nathanael close, not wanting to let him go for fear of losing him. He doesn’t even know what he would lose him to – it wasn’t him in danger today after all.

Gods of Olympus, he’s gone soft.

* * *

Andreas doesn’t leave his tent for the rest of the day, staying next to Nathanael as he sleeps of his divine exhaustion. As the sun sets, casting the sky into pink and orange hues, he hears his name said. It takes a moment to focus in, but when he finally focuses on where the conversation is coming from, he nearly snarls.

“Andreas still refuses to fight,” Tetsos is saying, likely in his own tent halfway across camp.

“He fought today, didn’t he? I saw him fighting the Trojan Prince,” Rikos replies.

“That wasn’t Andreas, fool. That was his twin, Aeron, and the Prince stuck him through the stomach.”

There’s a pause, before Rikos suggests, “Aeron dying means that Andreas will finally fight, if only for revenge. That boy just won the war for us.”

Tetsos must throw a goblet, because the clang of metal striking metal is what follows. “He didn’t die. Somehow he survived.”

Another pause, and then “Maybe someone needs to ensure he doesn’t make it through the night. I have a few men who would be willing to dispose of him.”

“See that it’s done,” Tetsos answers, and Andreas stops listening after that.

He leaves the tent immediately, and upon seeing Niki, calls him over.

Niki is stunned by the news at first, but when Andreas gives him his next orders, he nods and leaves to do it at once. They have a limited amount of time until Rikos’ men will strike at Aeron, and much to do in the meantime.

* * *

Artemis’ moonlight guides their way, but if any outsiders were to look for them, they would see only darkness. It’s a benefit of being on her good side, Andreas knows. Had he not rescued the young Ioanna from being sacrificed during the wind stall on their journey to Troy, there would be no reason for her to protect a group of Greeks, not when they were the ones attacking her brother’s city.

As it may be though, all fifty of Andreas’ Myrmidons follow behind him silently, guarding their backs as they sneak across the dusty and bloody battlefield that lies in front of the Trojan walls. Niki and Andreas lead the way, pulling the cart behind them where Nathanael and Aeron still sleep. Raias walks behind them, the only man there not a Myrmidon, but still someone Andreas was unwilling to leave behind.

When they come to the wall, Artemis’ shadows disappear from around them, and the sentries atop Troy’s walls spot them immediately. Before they can shout the alarm, Niki waves a flag of surrender, and then they settle in to wait.

The gates open only enough for a small delegation to go through, and right at the front is Prince Kevin. He looks upon them cautiously, eyes flicking guiltily between Andreas and Aeron. It’s clear he was under the impression he had been fighting Andreas until now.

“Prince Kevin,” Andreas greets.

“Andreas,” Kevin replies. “What is the meaning of this?”

“King Tetsos seeks to kill my brother so that I will fight you tomorrow. He intends to pass it off as succumbing to the wounds you gave him in battle yesterday. Obviously, I will do whatever it takes to ensure that does not happen.”

Kevin shifts from one foot to the other. “So why are you here?”

“It’s simple, really,” Andreas says, before drawing his sword. Immediately, the four men who accompanied Kevin out draw their swords as well, but Andreas doesn’t give them time to attack before he tosses his blade to land at Kevin’s feet. “I’m seeking sanctuary for my men and I.”

Kevin regards Andreas speculatively for a minute, then bends and picks up the sword. Andreas waits while Kevin steps forward, until he’s well within striking distance, towering over Andreas. He holds the sword out, and Andreas accepts it back.

“One condition,” Kevin says. “You fight for Troy now. You don’t get to just hide here, you have to help us win the war you started.”

Andreas raises his head, staring Kevin straight in the eye.

And then-

He nods.

“I accept those terms.”

Kevin reaches out and grabs Andreas’ arm, clasping them together to seal the deal. When he lets go, he turns his back to Andreas and signals to his men to open the gates again, large enough for the cart to go through. At any other time, it would be disrespectful, but Andreas realizes that right now its Kevin showing that he trusts Andreas not to stab him in the back.

A sound comes from the cart, and Andreas turns to look. Nathanael is stirring finally, pushing himself up to sit. Andreas steps close enough to grab at his hands, pulling Nathanael against him in an embrace. Niki gasps, never having seen Andreas do it before.

From behind Andreas, Prince Kevin speaks again. “Nathanael? Is that you?”

Nathanael looks over at Kevin and smiles weakly. “It’s me.”

“We all thought you were dead, that they killed you in the first battle.”

Nathanael shakes his head once, then looks to Andreas. “No,” he says, smiling softer. “Andreas protected me. It’s what he does.”

Kevin’s shoulders drop, relieved. Nathanael leans in and kisses Andreas, while Andreas hand cups the back of Nathanael’s neck.

In the distance, the sun rises.

**Author's Note:**

> This was literally finished ten minutes ago and has no editing done what so ever. Please drop a kudos or a comment if you see something that you loved or that needs fixing!!!!
> 
> Andrew - Andreas  
> Neil - Nathanael  
> Aaron - Aeron  
> Nicky - Niki  
> Kevin - Kevin  
> Wymack - David  
> Kayleigh - Aikaterine  
> Riko - Rikos  
> Tetsuji - Tetsos  
> Roland - Raias  
> Jeremy - Ieremias  
> Jean - Ieannis  
> Janie Smalls - Ioanna  
> ....and I think that was everyone who was mentioned or present!


End file.
